


Robb Stark is Dead

by ravenbrenna09



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brief Thoughts of Dying, F/M, R Plus L Equals J, References to Depression, abandoned, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-02-09 21:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenbrenna09/pseuds/ravenbrenna09
Summary: After the death of his wife and unborn child, Robb Stark is dragged away to King’s Landing alongside his mother to serve as his personal torture puppet of the King. At his wedding, Robb Stark is dragged out as one last torture for Sansa. But, after attempting to save the life of Joffrey Baratheon as he choked, Robb gains an unlikely connection with Joffrey Baratheon’s widow that changes the story.Discontinued as of 12/25/2019; Not finished





	1. The Widow and the Widower

**Author's Note:**

> How AWESOME was that episode!!
> 
> I had been so nervous about the possibility of the death of Podrick that I have been unable to write my other story. But, I should be able to write the next chapter soon and get it out to you. Now, this story has been an idea for a long time coming and I hope you all enjoy it!

“Why?” 

The simple statement had woken Robb Stark up out of his sleep. He blinked awake, looking around the darkness of the cell that had been his home since his uncle’s wedding. The torchlight had long since gone out in the hours since he had been chained back up to the post and the guards that normally hung outside of his cell door were gone. Robb looked around the cell room, searching for the voice that had awoken him from the dream of his wife and his unborn child.

There was a torch on the other side of the room, being held up by an unknown hand and the source of the voice. Whoever it was stepped closer, reaching up with the torch to alight the burnt out torch. And, suddenly just like that, the room was aflame again and he could see the source of the voice. A woman. She was wearing a long black dress that dragged across the stone tiles of the dungeon. While her brown hair fell around her face and shrouded her face, he gazed up at her, finding her blue eyes and her piercing gaze as though she was trying to analyze her. 

_ Joffrey’s widow, _ he thought.  

“Why what?” he questioned. 

“Why did you try to save him?” she responded, immediately as though she had been expected it. “He killed your father, tortured your sister and yourself, and has kept you from returning home for months now.” She crouched down in front of him and placed the small torch on the ground. “He’s done all these horrible things to your family. So, why did you try to save his life?”

“What does it matter?” he spat at her. 

To be honest, Robb did not know why he tried to save the Boy King. But, at the moment as Robb sat in front of the wedding table on his knees, the sight of him choking and coughing reminded him of Rickon. The king had gone down the steps, either going for help or something, but he collapsed at Robb’s knees. He had sprung forward, trying to drive his fingers down the king’s throat to get him to throw up the wine and possibly the poison as well. Robb had witnessed his mother doing the same thing to Rickon when he was small and choking. 

But, before he could, his mother was there and ripping him away from his arms, believing that he was simply trying to kill him faster. The members of the King’s Guard pulled him away from the wedding. When the guards finally brought his dinner, he had taken his water and washed his fingers so the poison was off his hands. 

“You don’t know, do you?” 

“Know what?” 

“Why you tried to save him,” she supplied. 

“Why does it matter?” he repeated, looking up at her. He wished she wasn’t here, wanted her gone so he could go back to sleep, to dreams of his wife and child. “Why does it matter to you? How exactly does that change anything that happened?” 

“It doesn’t change anything that has happened, but it could change how you go from here,” she responded, sitting down on the tiles beside him. “But, you are an interesting man, Robb Stark. You send your mother to Renly Baratheon’s camp to get an alliance between the two of you. And, now you attempted to save the King that has done nothing but tear your family apart.” 

Robb is quiet. 

“I doubt anyone is going to tell you,” the woman beside him spoke. “But your mother and sister are both missing from the Red Keep.” Robb looked up at her, his gut sinking in his chest.  _ Where had they gone? _ “After my husband was poisoned, Sansa disappeared amongst the commotion. As for your mother, I’m less certain about this one. Someone went and got her out of the dungeons after you were taken. At least, that’s what my grandmother told me.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” he questioned. 

“Because I feel like you deserve to know the truth,” she supplied, tilting her head to the side as she stared at him. “The truth before you have to hear it from someone else’s mouth. You should see how gossip spreads around the castle. It’s almost dreadful as to how quickly the ladies want to bring dirt on to those around them.” 

Robb almost laughed. The (former) King in the North thought about the last time he had laughed. It must’ve been before the wedding back with Talisa and their unborn child. Maybe she was teasing him or something that had caused him to laugh and practically tackle her onto their bed. He missed her. He missed her laugh and her smile. But, now, all he could think about his former wife was the sight of her stomach, their child, being stabbed by a Frey man. 

Robb bit his lip. “You must be careful then should someone find out that you visited me in the dungeons, Lady…” He trailed off, unable to think of her name. 

She let out a laugh, a melodious laugh that was light and airy in the walls of the cell. “Margaery,” she answered his unspoken question. “Margaery of the House Tyrell.” She crossed her arms over her knees and smiled over at him. “You are an interesting man, Robb Stark, and I hope you find me interesting as well.” 

“Can I ask you a question, Queen Margaery?” 

“I’m not a queen,” she corrected. “Just call me Margaery.” 

“Okay then, Margaery,” he replied. “My sister… Is she okay?” 

Margaery nodded her head, a pointed look on her face as she gazed down at the floor in front of her. She was thinking over her words and it made Robb even more nervous than before he had asked the question. He had been the one wanting to protect his sister and he wanted to know the horrors that he had invertedly put her through. 

“Yes,” she finally decided, letting out a breath. “Sansa is okay. But, I am thrilled that she is out of the castle now. Cersei hates her and hates me, and Sansa has been the target of her manipulation for so long, I hope she’s somewhere safe.” Her gaze flickered up towards Robb. “I must warn you, I do not believe that she is the same girl that you left in Winterfell. However, I adore her all the same.” 

Robb smiled. “And, Arya?” 

“Arya escaped the castle when the attack against your father was launched,” Margaery explained, a sad look on her face. Robb’s heart lurched.  _ If Arya was not with them in the Red Keep, then where was she?  _ “No one has seen her since the day that it all happened. Though, there have numerous reports of girls seemingly matching her description on the road.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “I am so sorry that you did not know.”

Robb breathed in. “It is getting late, Margaery,” Robb replied. “You should be getting back to your quarters before someone starts talking about your visit to the dungeons.” 

“If anyone does talk,” she remarked, a small smirk on her face as she stood from the stones. “I can always say that I was thanking the imprisoned Robb Stark for attempting to save my husband.” And, with that, she left, the black skirt of her dress dragging behind her and leaving Robb Stark in his cell. 

That night, Robb dreamed of a field of roses, running through it and looking for a familiar scent. He caught something in the wind, something  _ familiar _ on his nose, and he kept on running, tracking the familiar smell all the way to a small campfire of a large man with his face half burned off and a small boy who was laying on the ground. But, the boy was the familiar scent. He walked up to the boy and nudged him with his nose. 

The boy turned around a rock in hand and ready to strike. However, the boy’s angry face changed to one of shock and confusion. The rock tumbled out of his hand and he reached out to touch his snout. For a moment, they’re both still and then the boy whispered, “Greywind”. And something in Robb’s voice charged because that  _ sounded like Arya _ . 

Robb woke up in his cell, breathing heavily and whispering, “Arya.” 


	2. The Old Lion and the Young Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am still in denial about the last episode of Game of Thrones. Obviously, this story isn't completely canon-complicit, but if and whenever it gets around to it, I'm most likely not going to be following the plot of the last half of Season 8. 
> 
> *mild spoilers in 3...2...1...*
> 
> I just didn't like it and I didn't like that two major character arcs got completely assassinated.
> 
> But, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and this story and let me know how you feel. There's not a lot of Robb and Margaery in this chapter, but it's only in due time that these characters meet once again.

When the door to his cells opened several days later, Robb Stark was partially expecting the beautiful widow of Joffrey Baratheon.

Except, a handful on Lannister guards who stepped into the light. One of them reached down to pull Robb to his feet while another unlocked the cuffs from around his waist. His legs almost collapsed beneath him and one of the guards was there to catch him. Despite the fact that the cuffs were off his wrist and discarded on the floor, Robb Stark still felt like a prisoner as the members of the Lannister guard escorted him from the cell, surrounding him on each side of his body and giving him a look that said ‘ _Try it_ ’.

They were following the orders of _someone_.

But, Robb knew that they would not hesitate in killing him if he had gone for any of their swords. He only needed to be faster and stronger, but Robb had been confined to leaning against a column and tied up for nearly a month. He wasn’t strong enough to take down five guards even if he somehow managed to wrangle a sword from one of them. They seemed to be expecting this from the way that the five of them seemed to be holding onto the hilt of their swords.

_“Margaery, there he is.”_

Without really meaning to, his eyes flickered over to the gaggle of girls that stood off to the side. His eyes connected with the form of Margaery Tyrell, who half glanced over his shoulder to stare at him. She was wearing a long black dress with gold flowers and stems sewn into the fabric. Her back was partially exposed and partially covered by a long shaw wrapped around her arms. The top layer of her hair was pulled back in two braids that twisted down her back. From the moment their eyes connected, Robb Stark felt a surge as though something in his mind seemed to click together.

There’s a brief look in her eyes as though she felt the same thing before she replied to her friend, “I hadn’t seen him since the wedding.”

Robb knows it’s a lie, but he also felt like it was a ploy, a silent remark to keep their secret meeting in the dungeons of the Red Keep just that. A secret. Robb felt like it was in his best interest to do so. He hadn’t cared so much about the political aspects of things as a King. Apparently doing so had left him with healing wounds in his chest from where Roose Bolton’s knife had entered his stomach to stop him from fighting back as the Frey men put him in chains.

“It was quite heroic what he did, trying to save the King,” her friend whispered.

Margaery nodded her head.

Then, the Lannister men were directing him into a room with a long table. Before Robb could get the sense of his bearings, the door to the hallway closed, trapping him inside. Before he could try and fight to see if it would open if he could escape, he heard the sound of a glass being set down on the table in the room and he heard the deep growl of a voice, “Ahh, the Young Wolf.”

Robb turned to find an older gentleman on the other side of the table. There was a glass of what looked like wine on the edge of the table. The man had bright white hair that was neatly groomed and he wore a dark red suit with gold stitching. Robb’s jaw set at the sight of him. He knew who the man was. Even if he had never met him in person before.

He looked like an older version of Jaime Lannister.

“Tywin Lannister,” Robb practically sneered, tears pinching at the corner of his eyes. This man was the one who paid for him and his mother to be captured and ended the life of his wife and unborn son. Not bothering to look for an exit anymore, he moved towards the table, gripping tightly at the edges. “What took you so long to greet me?” He roughly kicked a chair back from beneath the table and flopped down in the seat.

Tywin watched him. “I thought you were a seasoned commander. Not a boy throwing a tantrum.”

“I apologize that I don’t live up to your expectations,” Robb replied, eyeing the white-haired man coolly. “But, I’d rather throw a tantrum than hurl a wine glass at your head and be executed.” He let out a sigh, leaning against the table. His eyes flickered towards Tywin who watched him curiously. “Seeing as you are the one who killed my wife and unborn child.”

Tywin nodded his head. “I had heard of your wife’s passing. But, I didn’t realize that she was pregnant. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry,” Robb rebuffed, by way of answering. He shifted in his chair and the old lion simply watched him, as though calculating him under a microscope. “Why have you brought me from the dungeons? I doubt that you had five guards walk me all the way up here from the dungeons simply to talk to me and offer your false condolences.”

Tywin nodded his head, standing on his feet. “As I’m sure you are aware or have some notion of, Roose Bolton has been named Warden of the North in your place.” The old lion maneuvered over to the table, grabbing another glass. He filled it with wine and stepped towards Robb, handing it over towards him. Robb took it but did not take a drink as he filled up his own glass. “But, I know that Roose Bolton will not be capable of leading the North. Not while you are still alive.”

“If you are going to kill me, then just do it,” Robb snapped, pushing away the glass of wine but not knocking it over. His throat was dry and he had hardly gotten water or food in the past few days. “But, I’ve been your prisoner for months now and it’s been days since I stopped being King Joffrey’s torture puppet days ago so I imagine that you aren’t here to kill me.”

Tywin poured more wine into his glass and then took a drink. When he didn’t collapse onto the floor gasping at his throat, Robb decided to try his luck. Though, he mused, there was always the chance that he somehow managed to slip something into the bottom of the glass. His throat screamed at him to take a drink so Robb drank the wine despite this, lapping at the remaining liquid in the cup until it was all gone.

“So, why haven’t you killed me?” he questioned.

“It’s only a matter of time before Roose Bolton slips up and decides to betray the people that set him on the seat that we have given him,” Tywin remarked, pushing the cannister of wine in Robb’s direction.

Against his better judgment and following the screaming of his dry throat, Robb got up and moved a couple of chairs closer. He poured himself another glass of wine and took another drink, almost disappointed that he wasn’t choking on the floor. Robb thought that it was a dark thought to have, with his mother and Sansa out there _somewhere_ , Jon on the wall… He still had family out there that loved him. He wasn’t alone. But, when he dreamed, he dreamed of two things: Arya and the Hound or Talysa, the light disappearing from her eyes as blood poured from her stomach.

“So, you are using me as a bargaining piece to keep Roose Bolton in line?” Robb replied, taking another sip of wine. “Follow my orders or you will be demoted and kicked out of Winterfell.”

“Essentially,” Tywin remarked. He crossed his arms, watching the King in the North carefully and there was a calculated expression on his face. “From now on, you will no longer be in the dungeons. I have had a room prepared for you and you will stay there. If you are to venture outside of it, a guard that is stationed outside of your room will follow you. And you will be regularly monitored.”

Robb nodded his head. “So, I’m still a prisoner,” he replied. “But, I’m a prisoner with a bed?”

When Tywin Lannister did not say anything, Robb Stark stood on his feet and practically slammed his cup on the table. The elderly Lannister called in the guards, who promptly escorted Robb to his room. While the guards had made a brief remark about it being the “Imp’s” room, Robb didn’t care that he was in the room of the Imp. In fact, he was fairly certain that he didn’t even get a good chance to see the room. His eyelids grew heavy and he collapsed on the chair near the front.

He did not know if it was the wine.

He did not know if it was the fact that he had been sleeping against a stone pillar with harsh stones pushing against his back and legs, with heavy steels chains on his hands, pinning him to the floor.

But, almost as soon as Robb Stark laid back against the soft, cushiony fabric of the chair, he was out like a light and, for once, he didn’t dream.


	3. The Queens and the Bastard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! So, yeah, I hated that series finale. While there were something things that I liked (like Sansa Queen in the North-but also confuses me-and Ser Podrick Payne), I overall didn't like it that much. It wasn't satisfying at all in terms of what I imagined as a good way to wrap up the stories of all these characters. But, enough about that because this is an AU anyways (Chapter 5 notes of "The Lady and the Squire" has a bit more information on my take if you want to know more). 
> 
> So, this chapter is a LOT longer than I anticipated it being. The fact that it has not one but three scenes in it sort of shows how much longer it is than I thought it was going to be. However, I feel like this story is a bit more story driven so multiple scenes per chapter will help it overall in terms of how the plot is going to go. I hope you guys enjoyed it and I look forward to seeing your comments/thoughts. 
> 
> (But, no, seriously, your comments give me life and purpose in these stories after that heartbreaking, soul-crushing finale). 
> 
> ENJOY!

The night was quiet. 

Even with the city, and the castle, fast asleep, Robb could not find it in himself to sleep. He laid in bed restless for hours, unable to sleep and unable to turn his mind off. Maybe he missed his bed of tile, maybe he knew that this room was a glorified prison cell, and maybe he knew that it all came with a price. The price of obedience, the price that at any moment Tywin Lannister could bring someone into his room and slit his throat if he stepped out of line, and the price of having something familiar. 

Occasionally, Robb could hear the soft pattering of someone outside his door, moving down the hallway past his room. There were moments that he wondered if there was a guard outside of his room at night. There was always one that followed him around the Red Keep and into the gardens whenever he went on a walk. But, they wouldn’t follow him into the godswood. There was only one entrance so they stayed out while Robb prayed. 

But, Robb wished he had some sign that his father was listening to his pleas about giving him a sign of what to do. He couldn’t feel the gods anymore. It might’ve been because he was too far south for the old gods to reach him or maybe, he feared, that he didn’t believe in them anymore. Robb reached out, clinging to the metal railing of his balcony and overlooked the gardens beneath his room. Tears were threatening to break from his eyes at the thought of the life he could’ve had once the war was over. Why would the old gods, or any gods, want to separate him from the woman that he loved and their unborn child?

Suddenly, the door opened and quickly closed behind. 

Robb turned from his spot at the balcony, but whoever had entered his room was obscured by the shadows of his candleless room. He could hear the gentle footsteps and the clicking of heels, but that did little to release that anxiousness that filled him. It was only until the figure joined him on the balcony with a soft smile on her features that he began to relax. 

“Good evening, Lord Stark,” the sweet voice of Margaery Tyrell practically sang to him. 

The former bride of Joffrey Baratheon was still dressed in a black nightgown. It had a plunging neckline that left little for the imagination. The dress had a long train that dragged along the stone behind her. Her long brown hair fell down her back in gentle waves. It was obvious even to Robb that she was out so late with a mission in mind. Despite his best intentions, his eyes couldn’t leave her and she knew it from the glint in her eyes. 

“Queen Margaery,” he spoke. 

Even as she had a twinge of a smirk on her face, she still managed to have a gentle smile as she stepped closer towards him. “I’m not a queen, Lord Stark,” she responded. Her voice dropped down lower as she spoke, “As I told you in the dungeons. I am not a queen.”

“What are you doing out so late?” he questioned. “Don’t the walls have ears?” 

“The walls do have ears,” she admitted, nodding her head. She reached out to place her hand on the rail of his balcony. Her eyes looked over the city, a smile of admiration on her face for the city in front of her. “But, a lot of the walls are asleep this late at night and it’s easy to sneak around if you know where everyone is supposed to be.” 

“What are you doing here, Margaery?”

“Looking at the city,” she replied, without hesitation. 

Robb couldn’t help the breathless chuckle that had escaped his lips. He heard her gentle laugh beside him as she turned towards him. He raised his head to look at her and found her blue eyes staring directly at him as if they could pierce through his soul. “I meant why are you in my room, Margaery,” he responded.

“I heard you moving around in your room as I passed. Since you were awake and the castle is quiet, I thought I would come to see how you were accommodating to the new room and old title,” she remarked, smiling up at him. 

The moonlight illuminated her features, making her look like something out of a dream. Robb had been doing a lot of dreaming and none of them had ever involved Margaery Tyrell. Most of his dreams usually involved Talisa, who would appear to him in a white dress with a baby bundled up in her arm. She would sing to him a song that he didn’t know and coo at the baby before begging him to join them. He always tried and he always ended up slamming into a wall that wasn’t there. Other nights, he dreamed of a forest with Arya and the Hound, another dream that wasn’t real.

“But, I must say, Lord Stark,” Margaery spoke up, pulling him out of his thoughts. There’s a grin on her face as she stared at him, a bright glint in her eyes. “You are much more handsome now that all of the grime has been scrubbed off.”

The comment she makes not only got a laugh but almost a sob as well. He had hoped that she did not realize the sound. But, he saw the change in her expression, the shift from the light-hearted flirtatious expression to a deeply concerned one. She reached out to touch him, one arm around his torso and her other hand on his arm. Regardless or not if he was aware of it, he leaned into her touch. Her head rested against his shoulder and he found himself naturally leaning against her head.

“It’s okay, Lord Stark,” she replied. “You’re still allowed--”

“Robb,” he interrupted.

“Robb,” she corrected herself. “You’re still allowed to grieve your wife.” 

“I’m sorry,” he spoke. “It sounded like something she would say.” 

“It’s alright,” Margaery replied, her arms still around him. Her grip on his arm seemed to have tightened but he didn’t care about enough. Despite the fact that they barely knew each other, Robb found her arms around him comforting and safe. “I wish I could have what you have someday. A love that would make me sad if I ever lost it.”  

“You didn’t love your husbands?” he questioned, before realizing that it was probably a stupid question. If he had not married Talisa, he would’ve been in an arranged marriage with Roslyn Frey. But, he hadn’t wanted that life for him. He wanted to marry for love. And, he did. “I’m sorry,” he spoke. “I’m sure that’s a stupid question.”

Margaery nodded her head. “I did not love my husbands,” she admitted to him, her voice quiet like she was afraid to overhear. “I loved Renly, don’t get me wrong. He was a sweet boy and a good friend. But, he was more like a brother to me than a husband. And, Joffrey, well, I feel like I don’t need to answer that question given who I am talking to.” Margaery let out a heavy sigh, looking back towards the city view. “Unfortunately, not all of us get the opportunity to marry for love.”

Robb let out a heavy sigh. “Even if you do,” he spoke, his words heavy and he swallowed. “It just might backfire on you anyways.” Margaery moved to say something, but Robb shook his head. “I believe that you need to get back to your own room, Margaery.” 

Margaery blinked. Robb might’ve thought that she had genuine concern in her features. “Are you sure that you’ll be okay?” 

“I will be,” he promised. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does,” she spoke, without hesitation. She reached up and her finger ghosted across his cheek, wiping away the tears that he hadn’t even realized was there. “I told you that I adored Sansa, Robb. And, I do not think that your sister would want me to walk away while you were upset.” 

“I’ll be okay,” he replied. “I promise.”

Margaery nodded her head, stepping away from him. There was still warmth to his side from where her body was and he gripped the railing tighter to prevent himself from wrapping himself into her comforting embrace once again. “Goodnight, Lord Stark,” she spoke, a bit more formal than she was before. “I wish you a good night’s sleep.”

Then, just like that, Margaery Tyrell was gone, into the shadows once again and then out the door which shut behind her with a light click. Her disappearance from the room left Robb Stark frighteningly alone once more and he gripped onto the railing, the tears slipping from his eyes. The gods weren’t here. His mother and sister were gone. Talisa wasn’t alive anymore to be with him. He was alone, truly, for the first time in his life. It frightened him. 

And, that frightened Robb Stark enough that he didn’t realize that his heart was aching for more than just one person.

…

The Unsullied officer had walked into the council meeting in Daenerys’s chambers. Grey Worm had met to meet him and they had talked in hushed whispers. But, after several moments paused, her general nodded his head and moved towards her, bending low to her and whispering, “There is a visitor that has requested to see you. He says that she is not armed.” 

Daenerys nodded her head, standing from her chair. “Bring her in.”

Grey Worm spoke her command and the woman was escorted in. And, whoever Daenerys had been expecting, the woman that had walked in wasn’t it. She had been expecting a local woman, maybe someone from a brothel or a former slave asking for help with her children. But, the woman that had walked in had long, auburn hair that fell to her waist. Her skin was fair, like Daenerys’s, but laking the tan that had come from her months marching to Meereen. And, her eyes. Her eyes were a startling blue. 

“Your Grace,” the woman spoke, curtseying in front of her. Despite the harsh hot weather outside and even more in the tall pyramid with the warm wind blowing into the windows, she still seemed to be wearing a thick dress and her hair was only partially pulled back. Daenerys could see the sweat on her face and also sported a worried look in her expression at the sight of the group in front of her.

“Hello,” Daenerys spoke. “Who are you?” 

There was a perplexed expression on her face like she was worried about what she was going to say. But, before either one of them could say anything, one of the chairs was moving. Daenerys looked over her shoulder to see that Jorah was the one that stood on the other side of the table. “Catelyn? Is that you?” 

The woman was already looking towards Jorah and there was a fond look on her face as she spoke, “Yes, it is.” 

“You know her?” Daenerys questioned her longest advisor. 

Jorah nodded his head. “Yes, my Queen,” he replied, moving towards them. The older knight stepped towards the woman, extending his hand as he got closer. With a cautious look around the room, she reached out to place her hand against his own. Jorah leaned down to press a kiss against her knuckles. Then, he turned towards Daenerys. “This is Catelyn Stark, my Queen. She is… was the wife of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and is the presiding Lady of Winterfell.” 

Daenerys felt the blood boil inside of her, the dragon that sounded a lot like Viserys to get out, but the woman in front of her seemed to be kind and gentle, nothing like the stories that Daenerys had been raised on. So, she pulled the dragon back and gazed at the woman, confusion filling her on the woman’s presence in Meereen. “Why have you come, Lady Stark?”

“To be honest, Your Grace,” Catelyn spoke, joining her hands in front of her. “I do not know. Petyr Baelish sent me here to see that an alliance was forged between the Dragon Queen and the Vale.” Daenerys moved to ask Ser Jorah where the Vale was, but Catelyn simply continued, quietly clueing her in, “The Warden of the East has long since ruled the Vale and has quite a formidable army.” 

Daenerys was quiet, waiting for the proposal that was sure to be given to her. 

“But,” Catelyn spoke, quickly. “I cannot in good consciousness give you the proposal that he has given me.” 

Despite her best intentions, anger flooded her. A woman was standing in front of her, a woman who not only had married a Usurper who had taken part in killing her family, but she was also trying to hinder her taking her rightful place on the throne. Without realizing, the dragon got loose for a moment. “So, not only are you the wife of a Usurper, but you are also trying to stop me from taking back my rightful place to Westeros?”

“No, I am not,” Catelyn spoke, her voice quiet and strong. But, something shocked Daenerys. There was something on the woman’s face that seemed almost familiar. She had seen it for so many years on the faces of mothers in the Dothraki and on the streets and even in the slaves that she freed. It was the look of a mother, who was willing to do anything for her children. “I am not trying to stop you from taking your rightful place to Westeros,” she continued. “I am trying to save your life.” 

“How so?” Daenerys questioned, suddenly feeling weak and small. Daenerys had been taught to be strong her entire life. She had to be strong so she wouldn’t upset Viserys or receive his anger. She had to be strong to be loved and supported the Dothraki and Drogo. She had to be strong for all the slaves that she had freed, to be their mother, their Mhysa. Being weak was something that a Queen, a Khaleesi, could not afford to do. But, standing in front of this woman, being weak didn’t make her feel wrong. 

“Petyr Baelish is a master manipulator,” Catelyn replied. “He manipulated me, made me trust that he would protect my husband and my daughters in the capital. Now, I have reason to believe that he’s the reason my husband was captured and later executed by King Joffrey.” Catelyn’s eyes briefly flickered over to Ser Barristan before a grave look covered her face. But, Daenerys watched as the wall of Catelyn Stark was built back up again in an instant. “And, I know that he had something to do with Joffrey’s death. There is no doubt in my mind that he would execute you in an instant if you stood in the way. There are better alliances that you could have.” 

“And, what do you want, Lady Stark?” Daenerys questioned. 

For a moment, Catelyn is quiet before she whispered, “To make amends and be able to make up for my sins in the eyes of the Gods.” 

“And, that sin is?” she questioned. 

“For being unable to love a motherless boy,” she replied, tears on the corners on her eyes as she spoke the words aloud. “All because I couldn’t get past the fact that my husband slept with another woman and got her with a child. I hope that one day I am able to apologize to him and give him the love that I have denied him for years.” 

Daenerys nodded her head. “Thank you for your council, Lady Stark,” she spoke. She turned towards Ser Jorah, who had a gentle look on her face. “Ser Jorah, will you take Lady Stark to one of the empty rooms on this floor for her to stay in while she is with us?” The older knight nodded his head and moved to escort Lady Stark out of the room. “If I may, Lady Stark, I have one more question for you.”

“Of course,” Catelyn replied, turning towards her. 

“On our way to Meereen, we stopped and buried the bodies of 163 children who were slaves who had been crucified on the mile markers,” Daenerys spoke, the faces of the 163 children dancing in her mind. “I want to do the same to 163 masters for what they have done to those children. I want to serve their injustice with justice. Ser Barristan wants me to answer their injustice with mercy.” Lady Stark nodded her head. “What would you have me do?” 

“I am a peaceful woman, your Grace, and I want to say that crucifying the masters is a bad idea,” Catelyn replied. “But, as a mother, I say that the masters cannot be unpunished for crucifying innocent children. If my children were up there, I would want to do the same thing. I urge you to be cautious in what manner you choose to do such a thing. My son executed a man who killed two innocent Lannister boys, boys with no connection to the war.”

“It sounds like he made the right choice,” Daenerys replied. 

“Yes,” Catelyn replied. “However, the man was a lord of one of his bannermen and he was grieving the loss of his own son, who had been killed by Jaime Lannister in an attempt to escape. I urged my son to hold him hostage and that he would release him after the war if his house behaved. My son executed the man and the house left and we were down soldiers in the war.” 

Daenerys was quiet. 

“I’m not saying what my son did was the wrong thing to do. It was the right thing to do and it was the thing that my husband taught him for years, but especially in Westeros, you are going to need to know how to play politics as well as be a conqueror,” Catelyn replied. “So, if you feel like crucifying the masters is the only way to find justice, then do so.” Daenerys nodded her head, pondering the older woman’s words. Then, Catelyn spoke again, “But, make sure you do it right.”

“How so?” Daenerys questioned. 

“Go to them and talk with them,” Catelyn spoke, matter-of-factly. “Determine which ones are the worst of the bunch and crucify them if you must. I’m sure there are a lot of masters in this city and I’m sure not all of them are the worst that you can think of.” 

“And if they lie?” Daenerys questioned. 

“Don’t simply talk to the masters themselves,” Catelyn spoke. “Speak to those that work under them, the former slaves that you have freed with your conquest of Meereen. They know that the masters will not hurt them while you and your dragons are around so they will be truthful and honest with you. Take note of everything that you see, the fear on your people’s faces for the men that they’ve been under even if their words say the opposite. Go around, talk with the people, show them that you are listening to them and what they’ve been through.” 

Daenerys nodded her head. “Thank you for your advice, Lady Stark,” the silver-haired woman spoke. Catelyn curtseyed before leaving the room with Ser Jorah Mormont by her side. Daenerys turned towards the remains of her group and spoke, “It looks like we have some work to do. We start tomorrow.” 

…

Jaime Lannister knew what he needed to do. 

When Jaime Lannister had been freed by Catelyn Stark, he had sworn an oath to protect her daughters and return his daughters on his return to King’s Landing. He had failed. Sansa Stark had been kidnapped and taken away from the city (and framed for the murder of her nephew-in-law). And, Arya Stark had not been here since her father’s capture. But, there was still another captured child of Catelyn Stark in King’s Landing. 

Robb Stark. 

The man who had captured him. 

The man who had bested his own father in the battlefield to the point where his father had to have him captured by bribing the Freys and his own men to overthrow their powerful rule. 

Widow’s Wail was gripped in his left hand, the stag decorations digging into his fingers. Cersei had practically shoved it into his hands, holding back her tears because it reminded her of Joffrey too much. She told him to use it, but he wasn’t going to. The sword was not one of his to use. It belonged to the rightful owner of the original sword. The rightful owner who was a prisoner in the very castle that he had come to save his sisters and father from. 

Yes, Jaime Lannister knew what he needed to do.

Despite the quiet lull of the evening, the armory on the top of the Street of Steel was quite large and still had the candles going. As he stepped closer, he spotted a boy with his back turned towards the door. He was beating away relentlessly at a sword which he promptly stuck back into the fire. A man who Jaime recognized as Tobho stepped into the main forge from another room. There was a worried look that crossed his face as his eyes flickered over to the boy. 

Tobho did not look like a master blacksmith. In fact, he looked like an elderly man, who seemed to barely be holding himself together in some instances. But, he was still a strong man with years in front of him before he was going to die. His work was unrivaled in the Street of Steel and he was one of the rare people in the world, much less the capital, who could rework valryian steel. 

“Ser Jaime,” Tobho spoke, stepping towards him. His eyes seemed to fall to the sword in his left hand and the master blacksmith seemed to recognize it.  “What can I do for you today?” Jaime handed him over the sword and the master blacksmith looked over it. “It looks like it hasn’t been used at all. What is wrong with it?”

“It hasn’t been used,” Jaime confirmed. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind putting on a different hilt of the sword.” At Tobho’s confused glanced, Jaime raised his sword hand, the golden hand that covered the stump of his right hand. The blacksmith’s eyes widened with understanding as Jaime rocked it back and forth in a wave. 

“What do you want me to do with it?” Tobho questioned. 

“Change the hilt,” Jaime replied. 

“What to?” he questioned. 

“A wolf,” Jaime responded. “A gray one if possible.” 

“Yes, sir,” Tobho replied. He glanced towards the boy, who was beating away at the sword. “Gendry,” the man spoke, getting the boy’s attention. The apprentice looked up, a bewildered expression on his face as he pivoted to find Jaime Lannister standing in the shop. 

For a heartbeat, Jaime had thought that he had seen a ghost. The boy was strong with muscles ripped from what he assumed was  _ years _ of training underneath the blacksmith. His hair was short and cut to the point that the color could hardly be seen. But, his face and those striking blue eyes… Jaime knew those eyes better than most. Those were the eyes of Robert Baratheon and this boy fit him to a tee. He must’ve been one of Robert’s bastards… but, how did he survive Joffrey’s attack on the other bastards? 

“Do you think you can make a gray wolf pommel for this sword?” Tobho questioned. A cautious gaze pointed towards Jaime, who watched the boy take the sword from the master. The blacksmith was protective of the young man, Jaime had realized. Even if he was Robert Baratheon's bastard, Jaime did not have any heart to have more bloodshed in the streets of King’s Landing. Besides, the only one who wanted them dead was Joffrey. He wasn’t going to spill his identity. 

“It should be easy. Why a wolf?” Gendry questioned, looking over the current hilt. “Aren’t you a Lannister?”

“Gendry,” Tobho remarked. “He’s the son of the Hand of the King! We’ll do whatever he wants us too.” 

“It’s not for me,” Jaime responded. “Do you think that you can do it?” 

“I can do it,” Gendry replied. “Just a simple wolf for the pommel?” 

“And change the grip to gray leather straps,” Jaime responded, reaching out to take the sword. Gendry handed it over to him. “The same color as the pommel to make it look like it’s all a part of the same thing. And, on the guard,” he pointed at the guard which was bright gold. “If you can make a new one that’s silver and has the Stark words on it, that would be great.” 

The boy simply nodded his head towards Jaime, taking the sword from him and moving towards the table, where he began to get to work dismantling the hilt. Tobho stepped closer to Ser Jaime, giving the boy a side glance. “He’s a good lad,” Tobho spoke, glancing over to the boy. “He just speaks out of turn every now and again.” 

Jaime pulled a pouch of gold from his pocket and promptly shoved it into Tobho’s hand. His eyes were on the boy, who seemed to be drawing something down on a piece of paper. “Half goes to you and half goes to the boy,” Jaime replied. “And my father never hears about this.” 

Tobho glanced towards Gendry, who remained unaware of their conversation and focused on the sword. The master blacksmith took the pouch from him and stuck it in his pocket. “Your father never hears about this,” he repeated. “It should be ready in a couple of weeks assuming you only want us working on it at night.”

“I will be back in a fortnight to check on it.”

Tobho nodded his head in acknowledgment and Jaime left the armory. 


	4. The Truth of a Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO.
> 
> I'm so sorry, this chapter is almost a week late from when I normally post it! It's a longer chapter (which I actually didn't mean for it to be) but I needed a little bit of a Game of Thrones detox because the finale caught up with me. But, I'm back. However, summer school starts back up for me next week so my school work is my first priority. But, do not worry, I'm doing my best to keep to a consistent (or semi-consistent schedule). 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy.

Margaery of House Tyrell was thankful that she had not been born a man. 

If she had been born a man, she might’ve taken the black or become a maester as she would’ve been fourth in line for the lordship of Highgarden. If she had been born a man, she wouldn’t have been capable of doing as much as she could do as a woman. And, especially and possibly (well,  _ currently _ ) the most important factor had to be the fact that she could get away with hiding her arousal in quiet with a guarded expression. Margaery did not need to worry about finding out the truth of her desires. 

The Princess of Thorns made it a point to be caught gazing longingly at Tommen by the new King of the Seven Kingdoms itself, she made sure to keep up her nightly conversations with him to keep him interested in their potential marriage, and she made sure that she brushed hands with him when they passed or whenever they talked in public. There was a part of her that didn’t like the fact that she was flirting (and going to marry) someone that was so much younger than herself. But, Margaery was going to be  _ the  _ Queen and he was  _ the  _ King. Their houses were forged in an alliance, an alliance that would be sealed completely by their marriage.

But, King Tommen Baratheon, the First of His Name, was not the main target for her hidden arousal and her closely guarded desires. 

No. 

Robb Stark (but mostly  _ that blasted leather tunic _ ) were the main causes for her currently repressed desires. 

Margaery could tell that Robb Stark was a handsome man in the depths of the dungeon even when covered in grime and filth from being chained to the post. Despite all the filth, he seemed even  _ more  _ handsome when the guards had escorted him to Tywin Lannister. In the weeks since then, she had only seen him in fleeting moments as he turned the corner or his back as he walked away. She had been curious about him and their time apart had only increased this to the point that she made a point to stop by his room so late. Even in the moonlight and limited lighting, he was handsome. Robb Stark was a handsome man who had a loving adoration and loyalty for his late wife and only had eyes for the late Queen Stark. 

And, somehow, she realized suddenly as she trapped herself in her room so late at night, aching in her heart at the sight of the former King in the North reduced to tears in grief, Margaery’s desires for Robb Stark only seemed to grow tenfold.

And, now  _ that tunic _ certainly wasn’t helping matters, especially since she was seeing him for the first time in broad daylight. 

Margaery had not expected him to show up in the gardens while she and her grandmother were talking about the events of Margaery’s  _ third  _ wedding. He had walked in with one of his Lannister guards, who he talked with like they were old friends and not enemies. She had not seen him at first but rather heard his voice as he and his guard talked. Then, he came into view a moment later, walking in the gardens as though they were his own. He was clean as could be, the dirt and grime scrubbed off every part of his body, and in the bright afternoon sunshine so she could see every curve of his face with potent clarity. 

He was handsome, almost breath-taking. He had a strong jaw with hairs beginning to grow along the curve of it. His hair was shorter than it was a few days ago, but it was still dark and curly. His eyes were startling blue like his own mother’s. The leather tunic that he had been given had Stark embroidery on the arms, two direwolves on the chest. It fitted to his body, accenting the muscles that the woman had felt when she had consoled him the previous night. Despite being a warrior, she noted that there wasn’t a sword at his side which she figured must’ve been so he wouldn’t get any ideas about rebelling. 

One of the Tyrells from a lesser branch walked up to the former King in the North and practically began flirting with him, shamelessly, but he talked to her like a normal person. 

“Pathetic,” her grandmother scoffed to her right. Margaery glanced over towards her grandmother, expecting the woman to be talking about the hundreds of necklaces that they were looking at. Except, she wasn’t looking at the necklaces. In fact, she was giving them no heed. No, the Queen of Thorns was looking directly at her. “Absolutely pathetic.”

“Grandmother,” she started. 

“You’re staring at him like a young, naive girl,” her grandmother criticized, crossing her arms as she stared at her. Her grandmother was dressed in a lightweight blue outfit with gold embroidery. Her face was judgmental and pointed in her direction. “Haven’t I taught you better than that?” She picked up a necklace, scoffed, and in a move (that felt almost rehearsed) threw it over the cliffside. Though Margaery’s mouth opened to form a protest, the elderly woman silenced her with a simple flick of her hand. “Honestly, at the very least, I taught you how to be discrete!” 

Margaery let out a sigh, knowing that there was no point in arguing. “Grandmother,” she started. “It’s not like that.” 

“Of course it is,” her grandmother argued, picking up a ruby necklace and looking it over. She let off a scoff but, thankfully, didn’t toss it over the cliff. “The man is an attractive man, like his father. Plus, whether Tywin Lannister likes it or not, he’s still the King in the North. He wasn’t overthrown and there isn’t a King in his place. He may be a prisoner, but he’s a powerful prisoner.” Her grandmother’s eyes flickered in his general direction as Margaery turned towards her. The woman spoke in a quiet tone towards her granddaughter as she reached out to grab another necklace, “And, the old man’s a fool if he thinks that Robb Stark is going to be backed into a corner for very long.”

“What do you mean?” Margaery questioned leaning towards her grandmother in an attempt to get more information. 

“Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery,” Robb Stark’s deep voice spoke, cutting through the conversation between them. Margaery’s eyes flicked up to Robb Stark, who was standing on the other side of the table. His blue eyes glanced over at Margaery before hastily returning his gaze towards Lady Olenna. “What are you two doing in the garden?”

“Nothing else to do for the likes of us,” Lady Olenna supplied, picking up another necklace and admiring it closely. “Besides, we’re looking through necklaces for Margaery’s upcoming wedding to King Tommen. Please, join us. We could use a man to help us with matters like this.” 

Robb gave her grandmother a weird look. “I feel as though you don’t need my help in these matters,” he spoke but pulled out the chair on the opposite end of the table nonetheless. He sat down opposite them and kept his gaze on her grandmother. “When will the wedding be?” he questioned. 

Margaery tried to stop the fluttering in her stomach as his gaze turned to her, albeit briefly but intense.

“After this whole mess with Tyrion plays out,” Olenna supplied, holding up a necklace of emeralds to Margaery. She scoffed at the necklace and put it back on the table. “You’d think after all the work we did on the last one would make this process easier. But, alas, this craftsmanship is even worse than the last batch.” 

Robb let out a laugh, a smile that lit up his face. 

“And, what’s so funny?” Olenna questioned. 

“I was just thinking about how my mother would be under normal circumstances,” he remarked, a grin on his face as he stared at her grandmother. There was a soft look on his face as though the former King was reliving old memories or thinking of what might’ve been. “If either one of my sisters were getting married,” he added, though he didn’t need to. Robb’s blue eyes flickered towards Margaery once again. 

“Well,” Margaery spoke, reaching out to grab her goblet. She raised it to her lips and took a long sip of the water inside. The liquid was cool against her throat and provided a welcome distraction from Robb Stark’s smoldering gaze. “Albeit briefly, I have met your mother and I bet that she would be fretting over details about the wedding dress and cake.” Margaery tried her best not to imagine herself in a wedding dress for Robb Stark’s wedding. “But,” she added, pointing a finger towards the former King in the North. “I doubt your mother would be the type to throw unsatisfactory necklaces over the side of the cliff if she doesn’t like them.” 

Robb raised an eyebrow in her direction, his gaze flicking over to Olenna. 

As if on cue, Olenna picked up another emerald necklace and scoffed at the sight of it. “Honestly, I don’t know why they keep sending us emerald necklaces time and time again. It doesn’t even go with your eyes! Besides, look at how poor the necklace has been made. I could break it in half if I wanted to!” She didn’t break it in half. Instead, she simply tossed it over the cliff without a care in the world. 

Robb’s mouth dropped at her motion. Though, Margaery could detect a slight grin forming on his features as his eyes flickered back over to her. Margaery took a sip of water, turning towards her grandmother who was looking at a sapphire necklace. 

“Well, my dear,” her grandmother spoke after a length of silence. Margaery turned towards her grandmother, assuming that she might’ve heard another comment about a poorly crafted necklace. But, instead, her grandmother boldly informed her, “It’s good to know that the feeling is in fact mutual.” Robb’s eyebrow quirked up in confusion, the hidden meaning of the comment lost on him. But, Margaery turned her head away to hide her flush. “Ahh, look at this one, excellent craftsmanship. Plus, it matches your eyes! And, it’s gold too.” 

“I’ve always been more of a silver.”

“You’re right,” her grandmother responded, placing the necklace back down on the table. Her eyes flickered upwards over Robb’s shoulders. “Oh, Margaery, I guess King Tommen has decided to take a walk into the gardens.” 

_ Give me a minute alone,  _ her hidden meaning spoke volumes. 

“Oh!” Margaery beamed, spotting the new King in the gardens with his guard. “Give me just a moment. I’ll be back soon, grandmother!” She leaned across the gap to kiss her grandmother’s cheek before jumping to her feet and heading towards the blonde King. She wrapped an arm around his own, talking to him quickly before glancing back towards her grandmother to see Robb Stark staring at her. 

His cheeks flushed once their eyes met and he wasted little time turning back around. Her grandmother said something which only proceeded to make him blush worse as she could see his ears turn red. Margaery’s own cheeks dusted at the thought of whatever her grandmother might’ve said, but King Tommen must’ve believed that it was for him because he had not said a word. 

…

Her aunt’s screams filled the entirety of the Vale. 

Sansa wondered if the Maester was still awake and could issue her some medicine to help her sleep. Sansa might’ve still been a maid, but being friends with Margaery of House Tyrell came with the gossip. In King’s Landing, the brunette had been trying to prepare for her marriage to Joffrey and had ended up talking to Sansa more about the events of the marriage bed more than Sansa’s own mother did. Catelyn talked about the possibility of a child while Margaery was more technical about the actual act itself. 

When Podrick Payne, her own husband’s squire, went to a brothel and came out without having to pay, the gossip had made it to Margaery’s ears. Then, Margaery had told Sansa about the gossip. Sansa had been shocked because she had never heard of a brothel turning away money. The Rose had practically descended into giggles when Sansa had questioned: “ _ What did he do?” _ . 

While Sansa was thankful to be out of the lies of King’s Landing, Sansa missed her friend that she had left behind. 

For one heart-fleeting moment after fleeing King’s Landing, Sansa had been reunited with her mother, who she had not seen since the former had left Winterfell. After Petyr had brought her below deck, Sansa had found her mother in the cabin and had practically cried at the sight of her. Catelyn had descended into tears at the sight of her, wrapping her arms around her oldest daughter and burying her tear-stricken cheeks into the shoulder of her cloak. Sansa had held onto her mother tightly, never wanting to let go over her again. 

Then, Petyr had sent her across the Narrow Sea to broker a treaty with the Dragon Queen almost as soon as Sansa started to feel safe again. 

_ Don’t trust Petyr. _

Her mother’s last warning had echoed in her head the entire time since they had separated. Her mother had not given her a reason as to why to not trust the man who had rescued her. But, King’s Landing had long since taught her to be cautious. Joffrey might’ve thought her to be a complete idiot, but Sansa knew that the Vale had never entered the conflict. Tyrion had admitted to Sansa that Lysa had refused to help to her mother’s face. 

So, Sansa was not for sure who to trust these days. 

Her days in King’s Landing had taught her to only trust herself and family. And, by that definition, Lysa was her aunt and Robin was her cousin and therefore, her family. But, by her own definition, she did not know either one of them to consider them trustworthy. And, she did not know Petyr Baelish enough to consider his opinion trustworthy either. Sansa might’ve been out of King’s Landing, but she felt more isolated as though she was back in the Red Keep itself, her every move watched.

Her aunt let out another stream of continuous screams.

Sansa let out a huff, turning over and pressing her pillow against her ear to muffle out the screams. It had been a long time since she had prayed, but Sansa prayed to the Old Gods and the New, to any and all who might’ve been listening, to bring her mother back to her quickly, so she might feel like she could be able to feel like herself once again. Though she mused in the late hours as her aunt’s screams grew more obtrusive as the night wore on, she isn’t quite for sure if she had known who she used to be other than a stupid girl with stupid dreams.

...

“Lady Stark,” the steeled-voice of Daenerys Targaryen spoke up. Catelyn looked up from her letter to Petyr towards the Dragon Queen, who stepped into her room. 

The room that the Queen had given her was bare of everything other than the small trunk of clothes that she had brought with her. Of course, most of her clothes were useless to her now as they were made for the colder climate of Westeros than the hot climate of Meereen. The gown she wore was one that the Queen had given her to help her in the harsher climate. It was lower cut and showed her shoulders, but was much cooler than the thick wool dresses she had brought with her. 

The silver-haired woman beamed at her, a guarded grin Catelyn could tell. “How are you liking Meereen?” 

“It’s a wonderful city,” Catelyn supplied, rising to greet her. “But, it’s much hotter than I am used to in Westeros. I do not know how you can survive it.” 

Daenerys let out a laugh. “The heat has never been one to bothered me, but I suppose that I have simply grown used to it,” she supplied, moving towards the older woman. “Do you mind if I talk to you for a few moments?” Catelyn nodded her head and sat back down on her chair. The Queen took a seat on Catelyn’s bed while Ser Barristan, who had lingered at the door stepped closer. “Actually, I was wondering to ask you and you as well Ser Barristan about Westeros.”

“What about Westeros, Your Grace?” the Queensguard spoke. 

“I don’t know much about where I am going to rule,” Daenerys replied. “Only what Viserys had told me about my father being murdered by the Kingslayer and the lies that my enemies told.”

Catelyn blinked, glancing towards Ser Barristan. “What lies exactly, Your Grace?” Catelyn questioned. 

“I don’t know much,” Daenerys supplied. “Just the monicker that they called him. The Mad King.”

For a moment, the silence grew in between them. Something stirred in Catelyn’s mind as her eyes glanced between the two in her company.  _ She didn’t know. _ Catelyn glanced over to Ser Barristan, who seemed to be juggling this new piece of information itself. When he glanced at her, Catelyn shook her head. Catelyn did not want to be the one to ruin whatever it might. The silence grew and grew before, finally, Ser Barristan broke it as he whispered, “Those weren’t lies, Your Grace.” 

Daenerys’s eyes went wide and the steely resolve in her eyes only increased tenfold. Catelyn might've had limited interactions with the Queen, but she knew that she did not like to be viewed as weak. But, it was her father and hearing that everything that she had known was false would be a blow to anyone. There were several more beats then, “Continue.” 

“I served in his Kingsguard and was by his side every day,” Ser Barristan spoke. “When the people rose up against him, he ordered them to burn. He burned a father in front of his son and laughed when the son strangled himself to death trying to save him.” 

Catelyn swallowed.

Daenerys’s eyes wavered, widening and tearing up. “Who?”

“Brandon Stark, my husband’s older brother,” Catelyn spoke. Daenerys turned back to her, a curious but steeled look on her face. The Queen nodded her head, signaling that she did, in fact, want to hear, before Catelyn continued, “Before I was betrothed to my husband, I was supposed to marry Brandon Stark. After Lyanna Stark disappeared and your brother was seemingly involved, he rode down to King’s Landing to get his sister back and was captured by your father. His father followed to answer for his crimes and, well… you now know the rest.” 

“That’s why you didn’t want me too…” she trailed off, turning towards Ser Barristan, who simply nodded his head in confirmation. Daenerys stood on her feet, pacing the length of her room. “Why was Robert Baratheon the one crowned King?”

“When she disappeared, Robert and Lyanna were supposed to be wed,” Catelyn had informed her, rubbing her sweaty palms on her arms. 

“The house of Arryn was the first to call banners against your father after he had demanded the heads of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark,” Ser Barristan informed Daenerys, folding his hands in front of his chest. “He refused the Kings claim and that started Robert’s Rebellion which ended the lives of every Targaryen but two, you and your brother.” 

Daenerys was quiet, leaning against the post of the bed. 

“And, I don’t know if you would want to hear of this, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan spoke. Daenerys turned towards him. “You already know as to why I did not come to you sooner. But, King Robert wanted to kill you and your brother. He went to great lengths to do so. And, he has not succeeded. He wanted to kill you after news that you were pregnant got to Westeros. Eddard Stark refused to go along with it and would’ve returned North with his daughters if Jaime Lannister had not attacked him on the street.” 

Daenerys was quiet, nodding her head. Then, she swallowed, straightening up to her fullest high. “I’m not my father,” she spoke, her voice ice but wavering. Her eyes glanced between Catelyn and Ser Barristan. “But,” she spoke, her voice quiet. “Do you promise to tell me if what I am doing is bad for the realm?” 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan spoke. 

Daenerys turned towards Catelyn. “And you, Lady Catelyn?”

Catelyn nodded her head. “I promise, Your Grace.”

Daenerys nodded her head, biting down on her bottom lip. “Now, that being said, I feel like the slave masters who decided on killing 163 children must be charged somehow. But, crucifying them simply because I think it’s right and just would be wrong,” the Queen spoke. “What do you suggest that I should do as an alternative solution?” 

…

Normally, Robb dreamed of Talisa or running through the forest. 

But, tonight, he didn’t dream of Talisa or at least not in the way he wanted. 

Robb was back at the Twins, the wedding reception of his uncle swarming around them. Talisa was by his side, her arm wrapped his own and her stomach swelling, growing their child together. They were talking about baby names or something, completely oblivious to the changing song and Walder Frey’s words. He knew what was going to come next, but he hoped that if he kept talking to Talisa, it would prolong the inevitable. 

And, then, like a snap, he’s on the floor, one hand on the back of his wife’s head and the other trying to stop the stab wounds on her stomach, the light was drained from Talisa’s eyes as she stared open-mouthed to the ceiling.  _ Robb! _ His mother’s shouts were daunting as she struggled against the Bolton men who were holding her against him.  _ Get up, Robb! _ He managed to get a knife, a butter knife, but his anger and confusion were enough to stab one of the Frey sons in the shoulder. There’s a sharp pain, the arrow in his own. 

He stumbled before Roose Bolton was in front of him, a knife in his hand, and he hissed at him _. The King wants you alive, but so you don’t struggle.  _ Then, there’s another sharp pain in his stomach before he’s struggling to breathe. 

_ Robb. _

The scene switched back as quick as a blink, and he’s got Talisa on his arm again, her stomach was no longer stabbed. He glanced up and around, feeling anxious at the events. He wasn’t at the Twins, he realized moments later. He was back in Winterfell with his father and mother talking to one another. Jon was there too, his curls had food in them from where Arya had flicked food at him. Sansa was laughing with Bran and Rickon too, happy and content. Even Theon was among them, a grin on his face. 

None of them had aged a day, just as how he remembered that day of King Robert’s welcoming feast, as though the world had never turned from that day. 

_ Robb, _ it was Talisa again. 

_ Yes, _ he teased,  _ what is it? _

_ We need to talk about after I’m gone. _

_ After you’re gone? Are you going somewhere? _

**_If_ ** _ I’m gone, _ she sighed, a grin on her face as she stared at him. She rubbed her stomach, which was growing larger by the day. _ You never know with these sorts of things. I’ve been a midwife once or twice, you know, and just because the woman has a healthy pregnancy doesn’t mean that she’s going to be okay. Complications can happen. _

_ Alright, _ Robb decided.  _ What do you want to talk about? _

_ Well, _ Talisa spoke, matter-of-factly.  _ If I end up going, I’d want you to give this baby as much love as you can give. Though, I doubt that there would be a shortage of love in a family this big. _ Arya flung some more food and everyone let out a joyous laugh. Talisa giggled at Robb’s little sister before turning back towards him. _ And, I want you to know that it’s okay to move on. _

_ What?  _ Robb turned towards her in surprise.  _ Why would you say something like that? _

Talisa rolled her eyes, her arm.  _ Because, Robb, I want you to be  _ happy _. I want you to live the happiest life that you possibly can and for whatever it is that you want to see it. If that means that you end up falling in love with someone else, I just want you to know that I want you to be happy. _

“Robb?” 

_ Oh, please,  _ Robb spoke.  _ It’s only you. It’ll always be you. _

“Robb.” 

Robb blinked, looking around.  _ Did you hear that? _

_ Of course,  _ Talisa spoke. Robb felt relieved that he wasn’t imagining things until she continued speaking, a teasing tone to her voice,  _ I hear my husband being difficult. I’m just saying that it’s okay for you to move on. I don’t want you to spend your days chasing the past if I were to die in childbirth. I want you to be happy, to learn from the past, and move forward to a happy life!  _

“Robb, Robb, wake up,” a gentle voice of a woman spoke, pulling him out of his dreams. 

Robb’s eyes opened, slowly as he took in the dark room. It was his bedroom, the candles were extinguished, plunging the room into total darkness. He was relaxed, as relaxed as he could’ve been in the lion’s den with a guard that went with him always, keeping tabs on him and spying for Lord Tywin. He might’ve been able to go back to sleep, slipping into the comfortable silence of the company he had. 

Then, the dream all came flooding back to him. 

The Twins, Talisa, the sharp pain, and her voice floating through his head. It all came back to Robb in one gut-wrenching, fleeting moment. He sat up, so quickly that whoever was with him let out a squeak. His breath was heavy and he was panting. Robb reached up, pulling the neck of his shirt away from him in an attempt to straighten his breathing. There was a calming voice in his ear, telling him to breathe and he was  _ trying.  _

“I’m bleeding,” he spoke, suddenly. Robb wasn’t for sure where he was bleeding, but he knew that he was bleeding and that might’ve been why he started clawing at his nightshirt, which stuck to his skin because of the sweat in the night. 

“Move your hands,” the woman ordered, her voice light and gentle. Robb didn’t listen, desperately trying to get his shirt up, but he felt her gentle fingers pushing his hands away. After a moment of fighting, he let her, trying to assess her features but it was too dark tonight to be able to see her clearly, the moon was hidden in the night sky, and his mind was too muddled to recognize her voice. Then, she was lifting his shirt moment’s later before she began to speak again, “You’re not. You’re not bleeding.” 

“My shoulder, then,” he cried, tears forming in his eyes. 

He had to have been bleeding. He felt like he was bleeding. 

The woman was shifting, the fabric of his nightshirt at his shoulder, and then she’s sitting back in front of him, her head shaking as she whispered, “You’re not bleeding.” Robb shook his head, moving to reach for his shirt to look at himself. But, then, there were two hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look up at him and all he can see is the dazzling blue eyes of the woman opposite of him. “Robb, look at me, you’re not bleeding.” 

“I’m not?” he whispered, his voice cracked.

“You’re not,” she affirmed. 

Suddenly, his mind connected her voice to the owner of it. Somehow, that made his breathing even more ragged. “Margaery,” he whispered, trying not to imagine why the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was wandering the halls of the Red Keep so late at night or why she was in his room. “What are you doing here?”

“Later,” she whispered, pressing his forehead against his own and her fingers slipped into his hair at the nape of his neck. Robb wasn’t for sure if the motion had some sort of ulterior motive or if it had been completely involuntarily on her part; but, either way, it soothed him all the same. “I’ll explain later,” she promised. She was so close that Robb could make out that her eyes were closed and her hair was down on either side of her face. “Just keep breathing.”  

Robb nodded his head, to show that he was listening, and shoved his eyes shut, plunging himself in total darkness. He struggled to maintain his breathing, breathing deeply in and out of his nose like his mother always told him when he had gotten upset. The sound of his mother’s advice that was ringing in his head, the lavender scent that was lingering on Margaery’s skin, and the feeling of her nose against his own seemed to have a calming effect on his jittery nerves, calming him down and his breathing evened out. 

Margaery’s fingers brushed over his cheeks, wiping away the remaining tear streaks on his cheeks. “How do you feel?” she whispered, her breath brushing over his skin and lighting up his skin where it touched. 

“Better,” he replied. He clenched his eyes closed harder before he managed to choke out. “Why are you here Margaery?” 

“I’ve made a habit of walking by your room on my evening walks,” she admitted, a slight lift to her voice as though she was smiling. “I heard that you were crying and the guard was gone and couldn’t wake you up or make sure that you were okay so I knew that I had to wake you up.” 

“Thank you,” he replied. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered. 

He shook his head. “No,” he replied. 

“That’s okay,” Margaery replied. “I’m here if you need to talk about it.”

“Do you mean that?” he whispered, still wondering if there was some sort of agenda that was hidden behind her words and her actions. Whether Margaery was aware of it or not, Robb was hyper-aware of everything that the Tyrell had done. He had spotted her with her arm around the King’s as they conversed in the gardens and spotted the longing look in her eyes as she stared at the blonde boy. But, he also spotted her fleeting and quick looks in his direction, which were accidental and unintentional and spoke volumes.

“Yes,” she whispered as if she was afraid someone will overhear. 

“Can you stay?” he questioned.

She nodded her head. 


End file.
